You are my Breaking Point, You are my Savior
by keepcalmandfangirlon
Summary: England has been captured by Nazi Germany, who discovers that England's only breaking point is America. Meanwhile, America races to save his former mentor and secret love. USUK, multichapter. Major angst. Set during WWII.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**Hi! It's me writing my first multichapter fic. Quick facts that will help you understand this so you don't ask too many questions. My Hetalia headcanon is that Germany had the split personality of Nazi Germany during WWII, who is the truly insane megalomaniac. Our Germany, meanwhile, had no idea that this was going on. So that's who this guy is. Also, this will be USUK. Don't like, don't read. Okay, so let's get this show on the road! *snaps fingers* **

**1941**

England tested the ropes binding him to his chair and was dismayed to find they were good quality. It would take a knife to cut through them, and even if he had a knife, he wouldn't be able to get out of the chair because _his hands were bloody tied together_. In any case, his only choice was to wait for his captor to come and talk to him. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long. Germany entered the darkened basement room. Or, at least, someone who looked a lot like Germany. He had Germany's blonde hair, ramrod straight posture, and fair skin. But his eyes…his eyes were blood red and insane. And he had an expression of cruelty on his face that England had never seen on Germany's.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

"You're not Germany. I know Germany. He's a man I've fought with and against. He's a worthy opponent and a good man altogether. And you, _sir_, are not him."

England was expecting the punch in the face but was surprised by its strength.

"Brilliant deduction. Your French friend was a bit slower on the uptake."

England fought back the surge of anger at his mention of France. He could not pinpoint the exact second he stopped seeing the frog as an enemy and more as a friend who was also a rival. Maybe they didn't always agree, but the idea of his ally being tortured by this pathetic excuse for a country made his blood boil. He knew a reaction was what whoever this was wanted. France had been on the run ever since his country had fallen almost a year ago. England had hoped he was safe. _He could still be. He could be lying to unhinge you. Stay calm._

"All right. Germany is currently about a hundred miles away, training his little Italian pet. I was sent here by our boss to interrogate our prisoner."

_Don't speak. _England thought to himself. _Don't show fear._

"I know how it felt in the years after the last war, the war you and your allies blamed Germany for. My goal is to make you hurt more than you ever hurt him."

England's eyes went wide as something occurred to him.

"You're Nazi Germany. If a personality split occurred, something major must have happened that Germany doesn't know about. What's going on? What are you doing?"

Nazi Germany smiled slowly.

"That is none of your business. So, tonight I believe we have a little something scheduled for your capitol city. Enjoy."

The television screen in the wall of the room flickered to life, revealing London. England knew what was coming. That didn't stop it from hurting like hell when the bombs ripped through his body, leaving injuries that he knew would scar. He closed his eyes, but that didn't stop the screaming of his people, or the fire he knew was consuming the city he loved.

_Stay strong. You can't break. You're England. You're stronger than he is_

**One Week Later**

England paced his cell, careful not to put weight on his left leg. Every day, guards would take him to the television room and force him to watch the destruction of his cities. December had come, and his heart hurt for the soldiers who wouldn't be home for Christmas. But he was okay. He wasn't physically whole, his left ankle was sprained, his torso was bruised, he knew he had a few broken ribs, and a constant pain in his heart from the constant assault on his country, but he hadn't cried, hadn't screamed, and hadn't broken. He was winning. At six, he sat on his cot, waiting for Nazi Germany to come. But nothing happened. He felt the bombings, but he was alone in his cell, not being watched by Nazi Germany or any guards. He stretched out on his cot and clenched his fists, not letting his pain show on his face, in case there were cameras. _Something's going to happen._ Something did happen. At midnight, as he lay sleepless on his cot, the guards came. He didn't fight them as they dragged him down the hallway, or as they tied him to the chair. They would win those fights. But they couldn't break him.

Nazi Germany walked in. He was smiling; a sure sign something terrible was going to happen.

"Hello, England. Sorry we woke you."

England said nothing.

"I had a discussion with my boss about you. You see, you're being quite frustrating. We like to break our prisoners, and you're just not breaking. You seemed to have no weakness."

England couldn't resist raising his eyebrows just a little bit, as if to say _it sure took you a long time to figure that out_.

"But then we did some research on your history. Your former allies, your brothers, your…ex-colonies."

England's heart suddenly sped up. He struggled to stay calm

"Are you referring to America? Because I can assure you, I have no feelings for him at all. We were allies during the First World War but that's the closest contact we've had since 1812."

His voice shook a little and he prayed that Nazi Germany didn't hear. But one look at his face and it was clear he had.

"We had planned this for a little while, but now the timing couldn't be more perfect. After all, it's the one thing that can break the great country of England."

The television turned on and zoomed in on a map of Hawaii. England struggled against his bonds.

"No. You can't. America is neutral. You can't j-just do this."

Nazi Germany smirked.

"He hasn't exactly behaved like a neutral country lately. Too busy helping his former mentor out of his latest mess. You can watch your America burn, England, and know that this war, and what is about to happen to him is entirely your fault."

"No!"

Nazi Germany lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth.

"Give the order, Japan."

"No, please, no!"

England felt his hands shaking and couldn't stop the terror in his voice or the tears that welled up in his eyes.

And the ships of Pearl Harbor burned.

**A/N**

***Winces* Wow , that was dark. And hard to write. I had to torture my England. *hides in crate of tomatoes* I'm just going to sit in here for a bit. Next stop, America! We'll see his reaction and him leaving to rescue England. And it will be amazing because I love these two so much! **


	2. Chapter 2

America had fallen asleep in his office again. It was the third time since December had started and despite constant suggestions, pleas, and finally, orders from his boss, he'd insisted that he needed to personally help find a solution to the depression that had gripped the country.

"It's your job to take care of yourself, America."

"Yeah, and you're totally setting a good example. When was the last time you got a good night's sleep, or sat down to eat a meal, for that matter?"

"You are a country. I am a person-''

"As long as you stay up, I will too."

A tense silence fell between the two men which was finally broken by America.

"Come on dude, it's almost Christmas. I want as many kids off the street as possible. I hate the thought of anyone being sad when it's Christmastime."

President Roosevelt nodded, knowing he was beaten.

"Fine. But Churchill is coming in the morning, so get at least a few hours of sleep so you can focus. Be home in your bed by midnight."

"Fair enough."

It was twelve thirty when Roosevelt walked into America's office and found the young nation asleep on a pile of paper spread out on his desk.

"America."

He shook the nation's shoulder.

"America, wake up."

America jolted awake, shouting something about dust and rain.

"Dude! Don't scare me like that."

"Why are you still here?"

"I had work I needed to get done. I can't go to sleep. Whenever I sleep, I see their faces; hear the children crying…I can't help them by sleeping."

America ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses, which were hanging off his face. He had an ink stain on his cheek and crease marks from the paper on the other one.

"And Eng- all my friends in Europe are getting hurt too, every day. I'm supposed to be the hero but I can't help anyone. I'm so sick of feeling helpless."

Roosevelt sighed and rubbed his temples.

"America, if I could help them, I would. All of them. And I would join this war if I had the choice. No one wants to help Europe, or England more than I- America?"

America had slumped over his desk. The president grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back up, and was shocked at what he saw. A dark scarlet stain was spreading across the country's white shirt. His eyes were glassy, and as Roosevelt watched in horror, they slid shut and America passed out. The president grabbed the phone that was blessedly close to him on the desk.

"Hello, NEOC? This is the president speaking. I need an emergency team. Quickly. I think something's happened to America."

_America stood on a Hawaiian beach. The stars twinkled above him like diamonds in the night air. A cool wind ruffled his hair. The glow of sunrise was on the horizon. He was at Pearl Harbor, and it was seven forty. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it with absolute certainty. _

"_You've always had beautiful beaches, America."_

_England stood next to him._

"_England? What are you doing here? W-What happened to you?"_

_England was razor thin and looked like he had been through a war, which, America thought ruefully, he had. A tear rolled down England's cheek._

"_Why are you crying?"_

_England never cried. Not since that day in the rain. America knew this. What could make England cry?_

"_I'm sorry, my love."_

_The beach exploded in flames. England was gone. America heard laughing, terrifying, maniac laughing and screaming on all sides, screaming from his people. _

_Something had happened. Something like-_

America's eyes opened slowly. _What had happened? He was talking to the president. He had felt a searing pain and fainted, and then what? _

The dream.

"England!"

He sat up with a jolt and then fell back into his bed, wincing. He was in the hospital bunker for nations, under the West Wing of the White House. It had been built during the Civil War. He had spent a lot of time there. America slowly ran a hand over his side, feeling bandages. The wound was healing, he was a nation after all, but he still felt pain. It was a wound deliberately inflicted by someone on his land, not a natural scar like one a tornado would leave.

"America? Are you all right?

Of course his boss was here.

"Yes sir, I'm fine."

"It's perfectly acceptable to not be fine," said another voice "That was one hell of a blow you took from Japan."

Winston Churchill sat in the other hospital chair, looking somewhat shaken, although that could have been because he was without his ever-present cigar.

"I'm glad to see if you're okay, America."

America nodded.

"Canada sends his regards, and-"

""What about England?"

"Excuse me?"

America tried to push himself up on his elbows more.

"Did England come with you? Is he here?"

Churchill looked at Roosevelt, who nodded.

"It is odd that you came here without him."

Churchill sighed.

"England didn't come with me. He couldn't."

America smiled ruefully.

"He didn't want to see me. Of course."

"No, that's not it. He isn't here because he's been kidnapped. I've had my best soldiers out looking for him, but they've found nothing. He's been gone for a week. America, what are you doing?"

America had swung both of his legs out of the bed and was rolling up his sleeve.

"I have work to do."

He flinched as he pulled out his IV.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to Europe. How soon can you get me a jet?"

"America- "

"_How soon?_"

Roosevelt looked at Churchill, who nodded.

"Two, maybe three hours."

America nodded, walking out of the room.

"I'll need it in two."

America walked up the stairs to his room, throwing open his bedroom and closet doors.

"Where is it? God, I need to clean this. Oh-here it is."

America pulled out the brown leather jacket with the fifty on the back, and rummaged in the pocket, pulling out a pair of white gloves

**Two hours later**

Perhaps the pain in his side had faded, or perhaps the adrenaline had simply blocked it out, but America could barely feel the attack. It had faded to a dull throb. He walked towards the glass doors that led to the plane that the president and prime minister had secured for him, and then paused. Slowly, he put on the jacket he had over his arm and then slid on the gloves, and then pushed open the doors that led to the runway.

"I'm on my way, England."

_I'm on my way, my love._

**A/N**

**So? Any questions, comments?**

**Reviewers get cookies!**


	3. Chapter 3

Every day, now Nazi Germany would beat him. But that wasn't the worst part. They still forced him to watch the bombings, but that wasn't the worst part either. The worst part was the nightmares. He tried to stay awake, but he couldn't. Not forever. He'd pace his cell back and forth until he had to sit on his cot, "just for a moment." And then his body betrayed him and sleep came. The nightmares featured his cities burning, his people screaming, but the worst part wasn't that. The worst part was America. Images played in his head like old movies, memories he tried desperately to forget. The Revolution, the War of 1812, all of the times he failed at keeping the people he loved close to him, only succeeding at pushing them away.

And if that wasn't enough, there were the ones where he had to watch America get beaten or tortured and calling out for help.

"_England! Where are you? England, help me."_

That was when he woke up screaming America's name.

That was how another week passed. England had lost track of the time after a while. Nothing mattered.

_I wonder if they're still looking for me. _

_I wonder if America knows. I wonder if he cares._

_I wonder if he knows that I –_

"You."

A solider walked into his cell. England simply looked at him.

"I assume you want me to go to a room where Nazi Germany will be waiting. And then he'll hit me until I pass out and make me watch my city get bombed."

He said it as casually as he could, clenching his fists so they wouldn't shake. The solider looked confused.

"My orders are to escort you to the interrogation room."

England rolled his eyes.

"It's obvious there is no IQ test required to become a Nazi solider."

He stood up and walked out the door before the man realized he was being insulted. Escorted by the confused looking solider, they walked towards the room with the metal door labeled "Interrogation Room." Two guards walked out of the room and pulled England to a chair and secured his hands. They left. And England was alone. This was always how it started. The "interrogators" would wait at least fifteen minutes before coming in, a psychological trick that was a total cliché, but still frustrating. England closed his eyes and tried to think about something that made him happy.

_A sunny green field, the day he met America._

_The rush of joy he felt the day he beat the Spanish Armada._

_The time America picked him as a mentor, even though he felt so pathetic next to France and his promises of culture and cuisine._

A shrill whine pierced the air, and red lights started flashing on and off. A stern voice echoed from the ceiling.

"Attention, attention. The building has been compromised. Please destroy any sensitive evidence and proceed to the nearest exit. Attention, attention. The building has been compromised. Please destroy any sensitive evidence and proceed to the nearest exit."

The door burst open, and Nazi Germany stormed in.

"What did you do?"

England looked up.

"You think I did this? I'm tied to a chair, wanker. I can't scratch my nose."

Nazi Germany grabbed England's chin, forcing his face up.

"You scum. You did something. I know your kind. You don't deserve to exist. You and your precious allies and your do-good attitude."

England glared into his eyes.

"And yet I'm actually a country, while you're a personification of an evil megalomaniac's idea of how the world should be."

The punch slammed into his face, causing firecrackers of pain to explode in his head. Another one hit him in the stomach, and then the ribs, which cracked. England showed no sign of the pain except for a slight intake of breath. _Don't show it. _Two more to the stomach and another in the head. If he had anything in his stomach, he would have thrown up, but he hadn't eaten in days. The alarm blared, making his head pound

"I swear, England. I'll just keep doing it until you break, until you beg for mercy."

England closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath.

"Never."

He tensed, waiting for another blow to fall. When nothing happened, he cautiously opened his eyes. The door to the chamber had flown open.

England stared at silhouette in the doorway. _Could it be…?_

The figure stepped into the light.

"Get your stinking hands off of him."

_America._

Nazi Germany smirked and stepped towards the man in the bomber jacket.

"Oh, isn't this just perfect. The _hero_, coming to save the day. But I've got news for you, America. I'm unbeatable. You can try, just like your precious England did, but you'll fail, miserably. And I'll kill you, just like I'm going to kill your-"

He was cut off by America's fist in his face. England strained against the ropes, but he couldn't move. America glanced at him.

"You okay?"

England nodded mutely.

Nazi Germany jackknifed off the floor and came at America again, aiming for his side, where the attacks had happened. But America was ready. He blocked the nation's hand with a move of his own. England heard Nazi Germany's wrist snap. Nazi Germany gave a howl of rage and lunged at America, flipping out a pocket knife in one hand. He sliced a cut down America's cheek, but America dodged the blade and twisted Nazi Germany's other wrist, cutting the man with his own knife. The two men were locked in conflict. England watched helplessly. _Please, God, let America be okay._

Nazi Germany punched America in the stomach and America gasped, and for a moment, England's heart stopped. Then there was a gunshot and Nazi Germany lay on the floor, unconscious. America held a small pistol in his left hand.

"Good thing I remembered I had that on me."

England stared.

"He's not…dead, is he?"

America shook his head.

"Sadly, no. But it'll put him out of commission for at least twenty minutes."  
He walked over to England's chair and went to work on the ropes binding his wrists, using Nazi Germany's knife.

"England, are you okay, really?"

England jumped up as the ropes gave way, and promptly fell down, coughing up blood.

"Broken ribs and sprained ankle. Oh, yes, and he's been bombing my capitol. That can't be good."

America put an arm around England and brushed some dirt off his face. England tensed, but couldn't make himself pull away

"We'll get you help. We just have to get out of here."

England nodded. America slipped his hand into England's and pulled him to his feet.

"Come on. Let's kick some German ass."

England laughed. And even though it hurt to laugh, nothing had ever felt so good.

**A/N**

**Up next, badass chase scene! I love this fic so much. Thank you all for your reviews! I love all of my wonderful readers. Every review makes me smile. Reviewers also get weeping angel cupcakes (shameless plug for another one of my stories) Next chapter will be up soon. **


	4. Chapter 4

America shoved the door to the roof open and pulled England after him. England used his gun to wedge the door shut, but they could hear banging on the other side.

"How long will that hold?"

"Maybe three minutes."

They had snuck three floors without being discovered, but then America had set off an alarm and soldiers had found them. They had kept ahead of the soldiers with the help of guns stolen from the weapon room, but one of them grazed England with a bullet, leaving a trail of blood across his already tattered shirt.

America pulled a coil of rope out of his jacket pocket. England looked startled for a moment, and then shook his head.

"What _don't _ you have in that jacket?"

"Explosives. The president said no explosives."

"What's the plan for escape?"

America was tying a coil.

"We can swing down with this. The electric fence is close to this side of the building and I've broken the circuit. My jet is in that copse of trees up there."

"How do you know the place so well?"

"I-"

The door burst open, shattering the metal gun.

"How-"

Nazi Germany stalked through the door, flanked by two soldiers. Blood stained his perfectly creased kaki shirt but he was standing up straight.

"Well, well, well. Looks like even though you tried _so hard_, you just couldn't get away. I'm _so_ sorry. But it's good, in a way. You get to stay with me for a bit more. I've got so much more planned for you. Especially you, England, my dear. Now, I've got your greatest weakness. And I'll have such fun seeing how far I can push you before you _break_."

America glanced at England.

"What's he talking about?"

"Tell him, England. Tell him how the one thing that can break him is right here. Tell him how you screamed, not for yourself, but for him. For America-"

"_Stop it._"

England's eyes were welling up. America stared in shock from one face to another. Then, a slow smile spread across his face.

"You know what? I'd love to kick your ass for what you did to England. I'd love to make you pay, slowly and painfully. But what can hurt you the most, what will really get to you more than anything, is having your two greatest prizes just escape. And I can do that. Because you know what? You're a megalomaniac. And nothing distracts a megalomaniac more than the sound of his own voice."

America gestured at the rope that he had thrown over the edge of the building, and then threw an arm around England's waist.

"Let's go, England."

England quickly wrapped his arms around America's neck.

And they jumped.

The wind whipped up their hair as they plummeted from the roof. Nazi Germany's horrified yell faded away. They swung out and then landed with a thump on the ground. On the other side of the chain link fence. America looked up at the top of the building.

"He can't jump, so we've got time."

"How'd you block the circuit?"

"Metal bar against the fence. Old trick I learned out west."

A bullet whizzed past America's head. He grabbed England's hand.

"Run."

They bolted up the hill towards the copse of trees, their hands intertwined. Running through the tree trunks, footsteps crunching over the leaves, until they reached the jet. England had never been so happy to see the American flag in his life. America fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a key ring.

"Hurry, get in."

The door creaked open and they scrambled in. America stomped on the gas and the plane lurched up.

"We're out."

England gave a sigh of relief.

"So, we've got about half an hour."

America kept his eyes fixed on the view outside.

"That's enough time for you to tell me what the hell he meant."

England looked over at America.

"What?"

"England, can you talk to me about what he said? What did he do to you?"

England said nothing at first, but then his hand slid over to America's arm.

And he began to speak.

**A/N**

**So next we have some hurt/comfort. I hope I can do it justice, because, if you haven't guessed, they're my OTP. Or one of my multiple ones. Can I get some reviews? Maybe some suggestions? I'd like to know what y'all are thinking.**


	5. Chapter 5

"The first thing you should know is that that's not really Germany."

America nodded.

"I kind of figured that out. Can you really imagine Germany making a melodramatic speech about how he plans to take over the world?"

England snorted.

"When you put it that way…it's kind of embarrassing that it took me fifteen minutes to figure it out."

America chewed on his lip for a moment, and then asked the question that had been pressing on his mind since he saw England in the interrogation room.

"Did he torture you?"

England stiffened.

"No."

"England, I know he did something. You look like you haven't slept in days, you're razor-thin, and you've got cuts all over your arms and face. I'm guessing you've got bruises abdomen, from the way you looked like you were hurting when we ran, and you acted like it was nothing when you got shot, which suggests you've desensitized yourself to pain. You told me you had a sprained ankle and broken ribs. Also, you were tied to a chair when I found you. And look-"

England tried to pull his arm away, but America held on, turning his wrist so it faced up.

"Rope burns. The kind you only get from being tied up multiple times."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock Holmes."

"Advanced military training class. The boss says it's my best. Plus…" America's voice got quieter. "We've kind of been…attacked recently. So I know what damage looks like."

England stiffened.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just fly the plane."

"England, talk to me. Tell me what happened to you." America's voice rose. "What the hell did that maniac do to you?"

England twisted the hem of his shirt for a few minutes, and then slowly began speaking in a voice barely higher than a whisper.

"I was in London during one of the blitzes, trying to help a little boy who was stuck under some wreckage when something hit me in the back. Next thing I knew, I was in that room. I met Nazi Germany. I knew right away he wasn't Germany but it took me a bit to realize a personality split had occurred. He mentioned the frog…I think they might have him too, but he could have just said that to try and get to me. And then he turned on the television and…"

His voice got even lower.

"He made me watch the London bombing."

"He WHAT?"

"He-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. What I mean is-How dare he."

America punched the wall of the jet, causing a gong to reverberate through the plane.

"He's going down. What else did he do?"

"Well-for the first week, just that. E-every night. And then…"

England broke off.

"What? England, please tell me. What happened?"

England shook his head.

"I-I can't tell you. You'll hate me."

"England, tell me. I promise I won't be mad. But I need to know."

England closed his eyes and began speaking very quickly.

"He said that nothing had broken me and his boss wanted results. S-so they researched me. A-and they decided. They decided-that y-you were the best way to get to me. And they-they bombed your-your."

England pressed his face into his hands. America was silent.

"I'm so sorry, America. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry! Everything I-I could have done. They hurt you. And I couldn't stop it. I can't-"

England was crying.

"England. No. It's not your fault. They-what they did to me, they did that to hurt you. And they succeeded. But you didn't do this. They did. Not you."

"You should hate me. It's my fault. Everything's my fault."

"No. England, it's not. And I don't hate you."

"How can you not hate me?"

"Because it wasn't your fault. And, anyway, I could never hate you. I lo-"

England looked up.

"You what?"

America turned to England.

"Why, out of everyone you know, every country you've been friends with, you've hated, you've fought, would they pick me to attack? Why me?"

England shook his head.

"I-I don't know. I can't talk about this right now. "

"You _do_ know. I know you do. It's because you love me. And I came to save you because I love you."

England looked up from his hands.

"You-you love me? How can you love me? After all I've done?"

America shook his head.

"How can I not love you?"

The plane landed, but neither country moved.

"We should probably get you to a hospital."

England nodded.

"Probably."

America smiled.

"First, though…"

He leaned in and pressed his lips to England's. For a moment that was both a thousand years and one blink of an eye, they kissed.

"Let's go."

"Okay."

They stood up and America opened the plane door.

They stepped out into the sunlight.

**A/N**

**Okayy, two chapters left! Reviewers get cookies! **

**Please review, guys. It really keeps me going! Any suggestions or comments are great. Love y'all. **


	6. Chapter 6

England gasped and sat up in his bed. It took a moment for him to realize that he wasn't in the prison anymore, but a hospital in the British countryside, in a real room with a bed and windows and a door he could open if he wanted to. America and England had left the plane and immediately been rushed to the nearest hospital designed for nations, a few miles away from London, disguised as an abandoned office building. That was three days ago. England spent two days in the intensive care unit, and then last night he was given his own hospital room and told that if he showed no further signs of injury, he could go back to London and the war by the end of the week. America had come to visit him once, but he left quickly. England tried to call out to him, but breathing hurt his ribs and by the time he could say anything, America was gone.

The one constant was the nightmares, and the bombing. Every night, his mind echoed with screams and fire for hours. He didn't tell his doctors, for fear they'd force him to stay at the hospital, when he knew the only way he could stop the pain was to end the war and Nazi Germany once and for all. But he still felt it as he lay awake every night, nails digging into his palms, wishing for it to be over.

But when it was over, the real torture began. Because his brain, exhausted from the physical strain he had put himself under, would drag him into sleep, and the nightmares would begin all over again.

"_England! Where are you? England, help me."_

"_You seemed to have no weaknesses."_

"_But then we did some research on your history. Your former allies, your brothers, your…ex-colonies."_

"_You can watch your America burn, England, and know that this war, and what is about to happen to him is entirely your fault"_

"_Tell him how you screamed, not for yourself, but for him."_

_Fire consuming America's land. _

_Your fault._

"No!"

England sat up, cursing at himself for dropping off again. Maybe he could go downstairs and get something caffeinated, like tea, that could keep him awake.

"England?"

America's voice echoed from the other side of his door, breaking into his thoughts.

"Hey, England? Can I come in?"

England didn't respond, which America took as an affirmative, because he quietly walked into the room and sat down on the chair next to the bed.

"Why are you here? Don't you have your own room?"

America looked hurt.

"I wanted to see if I could help."

"Help?"

America bit his lip for a moment, a sure sign that something was bothering him.

"England, you were screaming in your sleep."

"What do you care?"

America hesitated, as if deciding something, and then reached out and took England's hand in his own and spoke in a rush.

"Are you upset because I didn't come and visit you in the ICU? Because I wanted to, but my boss has had me really busy, and I had to get treatment and I didn't want you to see me like that."

"Like what?"

America sighed.

"Bleeding. Bandaged. Unheroic."

England rolled his eyes.

"It's my fault, you mean, and you didn't want to remind me."

Now America was the one rolling his eyes.

"Do we really have to go over this again? It's not your fault."

"Yes it is. It's my fault because I-because-because as long as he thinks I love you, you're in danger. You're my breaking point and it'll cost both of us."

England turned away.

"I should go."

America held on to England's hand.

"Iggy. Arthur. England. Whatever. Just _listen_ to me. I'm not going anywhere. Now that I'm here, next to you, I'm going to stay here. And I'm going to help you guys, and we're going to win because I'm a hero and how can we not win with me fighting on your side? And if Nazi Germany wants to capture either of us, well, let him try."

"America-"

"Not finished. Bottom line, I'm not giving you up. And I'm not going to let you give me up either. Because I've denied how I feel about you for too long and I'm not going to let that-that pathetic excuse for a country hurt you anymore than he already has. Because he still has part of you. You still scream every night and you still push me away. And I can't kick his ass for that-not yet, but I'm not going to let you push me away anymore."

England stared at America for a long moment.

"Thank you. I needed to hear that."

America smiled.

"It's my duty as the hero to tell the truth."

England glanced at the clock.

"It's two in the morning. What were you doing up? Did I wake you?"

America shrugged.

"A combination of worry about you and bad dreams of my own. But I'm fine. I should probably get back to bed, actually. Big meeting with the boss tomorrow."

America stood up and walked towards the door.

"Wait, America…"

America turned around, tilting his head quizzically.

"Yes?"

"Will you stay with me?"

England had colored at the request.

"Sure. I'll fight off the nightmares."

"Git, I can kill them myself."

The next morning, England woke up and realized that he had slept through the night for the first time since he had been captured.

**A/N**

***Throws cookies to reviewers* SO MANY REVIEWS! I love you guys so much! You are perfect and amazing! Thank you all for your reviews. I made some cupcakes for reviewers this time. But if you still want cookies, I've got those too. **

**Love!**


	7. Epilogue

England didn't expect anything to happen for Christmas. He had been released from the hospital a week before the holiday and had spent the week trying to make up the work he had missed while being captured. He planned to spend Christmas Eve finishing the orders for the new airplane parts, and then go home and sleep through the next day. He yawned and stretched, shifting slightly in the uncomfortable wooden chair pulled tightly into his desk. The clock on his wall read nine-thirty, but the position of the moon out the window and the darkness of the sky suggested it was close to midnight. England picked up his gold fountain pen again, turning to look at the paperwork.

"England!"

It is not an exaggeration to say that England jumped enough to spill his ink and knock over several of the teacups scattered on his desk.

"What the bloody hell…"

England turned his chair around and found he was facing America.

"I just got off the plane and I went to your apartment, but you weren't there so I figured you'd be in your office because you're such a workaholic and I came here to kidnap you for Christmas!"

England stared.

"Good to see you too."

America grinned.

"I know we're at war and you've been really busy. And so have I, but you deserve a break. And since this is our first Christmas…together, I thought maybe we could have dinner. Or just go home and watch TV. But I wanted to spend Christmas with you. I missed you this week."

England tried very hard to force it back, but he couldn't help it. He smiled.

"You flew across the ocean to have Christmas with me?"

America grabbed England's hands and pulled him to his feet.

"I'd fly across the ocean to have a cup of tea with you-and I hate tea."

"You love tea. Everyone loves tea."

England grabbed his dark brown trench coat and pulled it on as America handed him his scarf.

"Wear this, don't shove it in your pocket, it's snowing outside."

"Thanks."

America pulled his own scarf on over his bomber jacket, and then leaned over to take England's hand.

"Let's go."

The streets of London were silent and dusted with white, while flakes sparkled in the night like fallen stars. It was beautiful. They walked, holding hands, in the kind of silence that was peaceful and sweet. It only was a few minutes before they got to England's townhouse.

England pulled out his keys to to unlock the door.

"Oh, England, yeah, I, got you something."

America pulled a box out of his jacket pocket, his hands fumbling a bit in the cold.

"It's kind of stupid, but I think you'll like it."

England opened the box.

"They…they're my dog tags. I thought you could wear them when I wasn't here and…it's stupid..."

"Hey."

America tilted his head, looking confused.

"Are you oka-"

England grabbed America's scarf and pulled him down for a kiss. The snow swirled around them and the night silence provided the perfect soundtrack. When they broke apart, England touched his forehead to America's.

"Happy Christmas."

America smirked.

"_Merry_ Christmas."

And in the night, on Christmas Eve, both countries knew nothing could stop them as long as they were together.

**A/N**

**So this is the end. I loved this fic so much and I love you guys. You've been amazing readers and reviewers and my first multi-chapter fic couldn't have gone better. I couldn't have done it without y'all. **

**Thank you.**

**(And the reason London's not being bombed is because there was a ceasefire on Christmas. So yeah, they won't die.) **


End file.
